The Raven's Crown
by NosferatuJohn
Summary: In 9th century Scandinavia, a young man must learn the true meaning of kingship in a world where the old gods still rule.
1. Chapter 1 - The King of the Swedes

My name is Erik. The first son of Anund of Uppsala, who ruled with his brother Björn of the Barrow. They where the sons of another Erik who was the son of another Björn, of the Isle of the Mouth. Or simply Munsö, as it's called now. This is the line that my father told me and my wee brother Olof to remember. Who our forefathers where and the lands we hold: Munsö, Almunge, Alsnu and Uppsala. He had us repeat this every morning and every evening. He sought that we where more familiar to these names and places than the face of our mother. So many Eriks and Björns. Sometimes I wish I had been given a different name. He never wanted us to forget what was ours. Simply because it was not ours anymore. The great river was held by king Horik and his house. Birka and all the forts along the searoad to Uppsala was in his domain. His bastard cousin Bjarni held the northern coast. His other cousin, Arn, a debaser of children and sheep held the southern. Most of Svealand was in the grip of Horik, one way or the other. At the stones of Mora, my father had been made king of all the Swedes. All the jarls and earls had cast their votes for who should rule as king. My father had recieved most of the votes. He was made king by the priests of Uppsala. By the will of men and gods. That was something that my father would obsess over. It was the will of the gods that the king should be elected and the will of the people was that he was to be king. Thus he was king by will of the gods. I never told him what I actually thought. That the "people" he raved about was cheiftains with gold in their chests and food in their belly. 20 or 30 among the thousands of Swedes. They could not give a damn over who ruled them.

When the vote was over we had gone home to our estate. I played with my dog Freke. We where too young to feast and mother tucked us into bed. But we did not sleep. We could hear the noise from the hall. Father feasted. Mother feasted. The warriors drunk themself into Valhalla. Just like Bjarni and Arn had planned. When most men had gone to sleep, or simply fallen to the floor, the warbands of Horik, Bjarni and Arn attacked. I never saw my mother die. Father wanted to stay and fight to the death. But his men had carried him away. A dead master was useless to them and I guess they also did not like the idea of two parentless boys. Horik's man followed us. He came at Olof with an axe while we slept. But he was no match for the fangs of Freke. Later I heard that Arn had hung the head of my mother outside the temple. As a gift to Odin, they said. Horik had raped or nurse maid and then had his men shoot her full of arrows as target practise. That night would be the last that I cried in many years. I swallowed my anger. I swallowed it when father mocked me for not dearing to tell a girl I loved her. I did not let my tears flow when I was thrown into a frozen lake the older boys. I did not say anything when earl Bjarni shot my Freke infront of my eyes. I did what my father had tought me. I remebered the names. We hid at our island and waited. Horik and his kin took our other land. He was not king of the Swedes, but that title became less important for everyday. We simply waited. Then came the news. Bjarni had died. Slain in Norway, in some shithole called Cattlegut. Or was it Kattegat? And Horik was in Götaland, fighting over land. It was the moment my father had waited for. I was still to young to fight then, but my father went to the jarl of Uppåkra and demanded that he pledge loyalty.

The jarl needed no pursuation. They both put on their raven crested helmets and went to the estate of Bjarni. He had no children. Appearently that was why he went to Norway. The jarl burned Bjarni's hall and father killed all men loyal to him. Horik did not seek vengence. He had lost to many men and needed to refresh his forces to raid in England. The wealth of such a campaign could fund a reconquest of Bjarni's lands. But Horik was not a man of wit. Bjarni was a drunken bastard. But he was no fool. Arn was cunning as Loki and strong as Thor. But Horik had the head of a donkey. Stubborn and dumb. Horik lost most of his men in his disastrous English campaign. Horik lost most of his heirs. Horik lost his kingdom. The earl of Kattegat, that infamous viking Ragnar Lothbrok took it all from him. Appearently it was his inlaw that took Bjarni's life. We had much to thank him for then.

Only Arn was left. Father besieged his ringfort and brought me along. I saw the earl of Birka kill Arn's son outside the walls. I saw how father's warriors stormed the gate. I saw when a young sheildmaiden proudly gave the head of Arn to father, like a cat presenting a mice. I thought it would be over then. But there where other earls and warriors, of little importance, clung to king Horik. But they where soon smashed by neighbouring earls. Not that they where more loyal. But they saw fair game. No one would protest that someone else took their lands. What once was ours, we had regained. The earls and jarl hailed father as king.

But the threads of the Norns are cruel. Once father had sat down on his throne again, no rain would fall to the earth. At midwinter, we sacrificed bulls and horses and pigs to Thor for rain. But no rain came. A year passed and there was a terrible famine. The next winter we slaughtered slaves as offering to Freyr. But the field would not grow. The people died of hunger. The weak had the little food they had taken by the strong. Then they starved to death. The gods had forsaken us.

One morning, father woke me and Olof up. It was so early that it was still dark outside. Father took Olof on his horse. I was old enough to ride my own horse. We rode up to the temple. There where a great many people gathering there. Hundreds. Farmers, earls and slaves. Father took me into the great temple and showed me the image of Odin.

"Do you remember the first story I and your mother told you?"

I could not remember, so I shok my head. I remember that I shivered that morning, for it was very cold.

"In the mouth of the ages there was nothing but a yawning void. At each end of the void there was immense heat and shattering cold. When the cold and the heat meet, the ice melted and out of the poisoned drops a giant emerged. His name was Ymir. And from him, all giants decend. From the drops, an enormous aurochs appeared. Her name was Audumbla. He milk nourished the giants. Audumbla was nourished by licking on the salty frost. As she licked, a man appeared out of the frost. His name was Buri, and he was the first god. Buri married a daughter of a giant and they had a son. He was called Bor. Bor fell in love with another daughter of a giant. They married and had three sons. Vili, Vi, and Odin. They saw a inhospitable world, only fit for giants. They decided they wanted to bring order and themself rule the world. So they slew Ymir. And from him they fashioned the world of old."

Father handed me knife. I remember that I hated that knife. It was huge, ugly and black, with a handle fashioned like a skull.

"Now you must sacrifice your own father, for the good of the land."

I remember that I could not belive the words he said. I screamed and cried for atleast an hour. The first time I had cried for years. And he just sat there and cried to.

"My son" he said, "I have spoken with the wise ones. The gods are not pleased with me, so as king I must give myself as a sacrifice to ensure the survival of the people. A king sacrifices all for the land and the people. You are my son and the king. You must sacrfice me so our family and our people may live on. That what a true king does."

With a hear heavier than all the gold of the world I walked outside. Father followed me. He stipped naked and lay down on the altar as the priests washed him. Then they turn to me. The high priest whispered how I should cut to end it quickly. I did exactly what he said. The sound father made when I cut his throat will haunt me to my dying day. The blood flowed and the priest collected in a bowl and carried it away. Then i felt something fall on me. It was water. I looked up and felt dropplets of water hit my face. For the first time in 2 years I felt rain. The people bowed. The priest bowed. All bowed. The gods had accepted my father's sacrifice. And the people had made me king. I was 13 years old.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Feast of Freyr

I had a cousin in Southmensland and his name was Asgeir. He lived at a farm called Lunda, where they worshipped idols of Freyr with limbs that would put horses to shame. Asgeir was two years older than me and was like an older brother to me and Olof. His father, Hostein, was the younger brother of my father, and the jarl of Southmenland. He was a immensly powerful man and owned 12 ships of his own. We would always play when we where children. He was often rough with me when we played war and teased me at every opportunity. And I loved him.

In the summer after my father's death we all heard of the sack of Paris, performed by Ragnar and his brother Rollo. We had all heard of the kingdom of Frankia and their old king Charlamange. He was a figure of dread, of his slaughter of those who would not abonden Odin. My father and grandfather had often ranted about the murder of thousands of loyal belivers and how Charlamange had destroyed the temples and cut down the sacred trees. As far as I knew, Charlamange ought to have been a terrible giant and the Franks was a people of trolls. I heard of people who had fought the Franks and raided their towns. I used to ask them if the Franks where really trolls. They would always say that they where hidious people, with many heads and they worshipped a god so vain that he only allowed the Franks to worship him. They painted themself as Sigurd the dragonslayer, stealing the hoards of the trollish Franks. To hear that someone had raided their largest city and brought them to their knees, that suddenly removed all my ideas about the Franks being monsters. They where just men. As much as Olof and I where fascinated about about Ragnar Lothbrok hiding in a casket and tricking the Franks to get into Paris, it was Asgeir who became obsessed. For all the winter all he could talk about was Frankia. Asgeri would question, no interogate, all of the travelers from the south he would come across. It was clear to us that he wanted to go to Frankia.

At the feast of Yol, I asked Asgeir if he wanted to go to Kattegat and join king Ragnar. But to my suprise, he said no.

"I don't want to be a sidefigure in someone elses saga" he said. Then he would go to his father and talk to him about Frankia. Hostein was a large, burly man who often spent a lot of time thinking through what to do. Mayby to much. I could tell Hostein was interested in what his son had to say. But he would not allow Asgeir to go. He would not even let Asgeir join him into Gardariki and the eastlands. He was homebound, like some little child.

I had little joy the summer and winter following the death of my father. Sometimes, I could not get out of bed in the morning. Despite how happy the people where with the harvest, I could not find joy in anything. Not in music, not in games, not in anything. I used to love strawberries. One of my father's warriors had sent his wife and daughter into the woods and brought me some to make me happy. His wife had smiled and put a bowl of strawberries in my lap. But I could hardly put a single berry in my mouth. I became thinner and thinner. It felt as if I had a blackness behind me, and I was walking towards another blackness. My spirit felt like a void. Hostein took me to Lunda during midsummer. I asked him what we where doing there. He simply replied: "Live".

The farmhands had carried outside the images of Freyr and the farmgirls carried images of Freyja. Thralls where carrying out large barrels of mead. The images of the gods where gathered into a large ring around a bonfire. As the darkness fell, people of all the surronding farms gathered around the bonfire. There where all sorts of people, freemen, wanderers, merchants from other parts of Svealand. There where even earls from other parts of Southmenland and the odd christian who had come to Birka to trade. The people would drink from the large barrels. Musicians would sing about passion and love. Hostein made me drink mead. I did not really want to. Since the sacrifice I had tried drowning my feeling in ale. That had not worked. Instead my feelings had been enlarged. The pain I had felt had become like some mare was sitting on my chest and trying to cave in my ribs. All the while I hade felt as if I was dying and all the trolls and thurses of Jotunheim had put their claws into my mind. But how could I tell this to Hostein. I was king and the cheif of my clan. I could not say no to an invitation. I had to drink Odin's mead. I had to take part in the festivals. It was my duty as king. The same duty my father had died for. I drank the mead. I always liked mead better than ale. Ale was bitter, but mead was sweet. The music was nice, but I could not really get into it. The people where happy and danced. But it gave me no joy. I just felt empty and wanted to go to sleep. Despite sitting in the middle of the feast, I felt as if I was watching it from afar. Soon enough, a large boar was brought infront of the largest image of Freyr. Hostein gave me a large axe, while he lifted a large hammer. I know what it hade come to. The sacrifice.

I felt this was a disaster waiting to happen. Both Hostein and I where to drunk for this. We would miss and the boar would run away. I would be known as the king who had no trouble killing his own father, but killing a pig was something he was no up to. Despite these thought, I went to the image. I said the words. I struck at the boar's neck while Hostein smashed the hammer at it's head. Mayby Freyr was with me that night because we both hit the boar at the right spots. A shower of blood came from it's neck and splashed over me and the image of Freyr. The people cheered. A priest was qucik to gather the blood in a bowl and sprinkle it on the other images of Freyr. The music intensified and the dancing began anew. The skald and his wife sang of Freyr and of lovemaking. Hostein laughed and patted my back. He gave me another horn of mead and pointed to some girls. Then I understood why he had brought me here. He wanted me to hump. He thought that would change my mood. I sat down in my seat again while a godfearing man lifted the head of the boar to the skies, roared to the gods and placed the head on a pike. The priest where cocking the meat of the boar and handing out the meat to the ecstatic people. A cross the ring I saw a girl looking my way. She looked a few years older than me. I doubt she would have looked at me if I was not the king. The feast started to degenerate. Around me people where kissing and removing their clothes. Some where pretty to look at. Others, not so much. I had no desire to se my uncle and aunt strut around bare naked infront of Freyr. I thought to myself that he must have covered his eyes. The older girl whipsered to one of her friends and looked at my direction. Both on them giggled. The girl walked up to me and dragged my to my feet. She started to dance with me. I was a terrible dancer. I was wee 13 and had never felt the urge to dance. The girl did not seem to mind. After a while she asked if I wanted mead. I said yes. I liked mead and the girl was pretty. I felt awkward, but I was becoming a man. Atlest something good could come from becoming the king. We drank a horn of mead each. I think most of it ended up on my tunic and not in my mouth. The girl laughed and I wanted to disappear into the earth. But she kissed me and dragged me outside of the ring. That was my first kiss. She dragged me into the trees and kissed me again. This time she forced her tounge into my mouth. Asgeir had told me that is what you where supposed to do when kissing. The girl started to pull up my tunic.

"She does not just want to kiss. She wants to have me" I thought

But then a terrible anxiety came over me. I pushed he away and said no. Was I to become one body with her? And one spirit? For some reason I was filled with immsense disgust. I did not want to lie with her, despite how lovely and beautiful the girl was. I ran away and went to bed. Hostein had seen me walking away with the girl. On our way home, he bragged to all the people we meet how he I had seduced the most beautiful girl at the midsummer feast.

Sometimes I would see my father's blood on my hands and go and wash my hands with the same frenzy as if I was on fire. I would rub and rub and rub, until it was my own blood I saw on my hands. I did not even mind the pain. I just had to get the blood off my hands. It just would not go away. Once Asgeir saw this. He pulled me away from the tub and slapped me. Then he yelled at me to never do that again and never let anyone see me like that again. He went after Grimhild, an old seer, and she went to me. At first I thought she would tell me how I had done nothing wrong and that me an my father had saved the people. But she did not. She would simply talk to me. We would talk for hours. About all sorts of things. I confessed what had happened at Lunda. Grimhild listened, but said nothing of it until I asked her.

"Am I... A freak?" I asked.

"No" she said. And that was the end of that.

It went weeks until she mentioned my father. I guess she just wanted me to open up, because when she finally asked me I said everything. I just cried and cried and cried. I cried for my father. I cried for my mother. I cried for all of it. I was lucky Grimhild was who she was. A more deceptive woman would have been able to use it all against me. But Grimhild was a healer. When I had cried until I had no more tears to shed, she stroked my cheek.

"I will heal you" she said.

"Heal me?" I replied.

"Not all wounds are of the body, but Odin can heal it all" she said. The next day she took me to a distant grove, deep in the woods. Once there, Grimhild told me to sit down in the middle of the ground. It was a serene place. Moss covered the ground and strange mushrooms grew in rings.

"Elfrings..." I thought.

The crowns of the trees spread so far that you could not see the sky. The sunlight shined though the leaves and cast an almost green light over the grove. Grimhild told me to take off my shoes, while she picked some of the mushrooms. I did as she said. Grimhild came to me and gave me the mushrooms and told me to eat them. I did as she said. She then told me to lay down on the moss. While i layed down, Grimhild brought out an small flute made of bone. She started to play a soothing melody and i could suddenly feel as if I was becoming one with the ground. Grimhild stopped playing and started to chant. The tree tops started to move, as if they breathed. Stars and light appeared infront of my eyes. Grimhild sang about the gods and the elfs and how Odin, Loki and Hønir had fashioned man out of wood. I could see the faces of the gods in the trees. I could me mother and father in the ground. I heard the voices of the dwarves in the earth. The impressions overcame me completely and I blacked out.

When I woke up Grimhild sat by my side and asked how I felt. The sadness was still in me, but it was not as strong as before. I felt better. We left the grove and returned home to Uppsala. Once I've got home I called for Asgeir. When he entered my hall I asked him:

"Asgeir, do you still wish to go a viking and raid the Franks?"

"Yes, but father... He has gone east and brought all his ships with him" he said.

"Next summer, that would not be an issue" I said.

"How so?" asked Asgeir.

"I will have our best smiths in Birka fasion us mail and we shall go and viking the Hel off those Franks" I said, and for the first time in a long time I felt warmth inside as Asgeir smiled that mischievous smile of his.


End file.
